


Things You've Hidden, Things You've Concealed

by antic



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Fingering, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Denial, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Rimming, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 13:38:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11105673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antic/pseuds/antic
Summary: Bucky didn't know what he expected when he invited O'Reilly over. It was always better not to think about it.





	Things You've Hidden, Things You've Concealed

**Author's Note:**

> aah it is done. YEARS it has roughly sat on my computer, mocking me. finally though, finally! i got to posting. well then. one down, a couple of dozen to go.  
> (a WIP problem? who, me? oh, i also lurk on [tumblr](http://superthatsoldier.tumblr.com))
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

He didn't know what he expected when he invited O’Reilly over. He wasn't sure he expected anything at all. Steve was out till late and there was this feeling in his gut lately that he tried to ignore by not letting himself be on his own for too long. O’Reilly was just there, tagging along.

"Go ahead." He pointed the guy over to the couch. "I'll get you a beer."

O’Reilly made himself comfortable right away. He slung his jacket over the armrest, rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie. Bucky was popping bottle caps when O'Reilly started browsing. He watched him through the heavily cluttered wooden planks making for a divider between the kitchen and the living room (his and Steve's idea of space conservation. No amount of splinters he got while building it was enough to snuff out the hot feeling of satisfaction he got out of seeing Steve's smile).

"You live alone?" O’Reilly inquired from where he was poking around the radio. It seemed casual, nearly off-handed, but it made Bucky pause.

"Nah, got a roommate," he replied carefully. "He's not gonna be back for hours, though."

O'Reilly hummed and finally settled on a station. A song Bucky vaguely recognized started droning in the background. He liked the faster tunes more, but it was alright.

When he rounded the ungainly handmade formation, O’Reilly was already sprawled over half the couch. He was a big guy, tall, thick. Bucky swung the beer in front of his face until he got hold of it.

Paul O'Reilly had a desk on the other side of the office, but they crossed paths often enough to establish an amiable sort of relationship. Bucky was on good terms with everyone, but O’Reilly always seemed more withdrawn. This time, though, as Bucky was getting ready to leave, O’Reilly dragged out his process to align it with his, instead of already having run off to wherever he usually did. Then, without explanation, he seemed to have decided to accompany him on his way. But it was Bucky who invited him up. He wasn't sure why, just that it seemed like the thing to do.

He lowered himself on the cushion next to O’Reilly and took a swig. One-handed, he rid himself of his tie.

"You got a girl, Barnes?"

Bucky smiled crookedly, more out of habit than anything.

"A few." His eyes traced the crack in the ceiling. Nobody had to know it never went anywhere steady with any of them. Absently, he started worrying at his lower lip. "How 'bout you?"

O’Reilly cleared his throat, seeming somewhat distracted.

"No," was his curt answer. He drowned whatever could have come after with beer.

"Anyone catch your eye?" With a sideways glance, Bucky teased him. You'd have to be blind not to notice the way Margie orbited O’Reilly at work. He didn't steer her away either. It made for nice gossip.

Bucky kept biting his lips as O’Reilly stalled. They felt dry enough to distract him. He touched them to judge just how bad it was.

A hand fell heavy on his thigh. Before he let himself register the heat of it, he stood up abruptly.

"You want another beer?" he offered and slapped O'Reilly's shoulder on his way past. "Hold on."

He put his bottle on the side table. On the way to the kitchen he shook off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. Rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His rib cage felt too tight.

He just managed to get the cupboard above the sink open when footsteps sounded behind his back.

"Told you I'd– " He didn't get a chance to finish. A hand gripped him by the back of the neck and shoved him forward. He barely caught himself on the edge of the countertop. Hard, heavy heat pressed against his backside. He tried to push back, but the weight wouldn't budge. O'Reilly staggered close and hunched over him.

"That what you want?" O'Reilly growled in his ear. Bucky shivered. "Huh?" O’Reilly shook him by the neck when he didn't answer. Bucky elbowed him in the stomach, stubbornly ignoring the hardening length lodged against his ass. O’Reilly gasped and fell back enough for Bucky to straighten up, but then he grabbed him by the hair and dragged him back against his torso. "Shameless punk," he spat and caught one of Bucky's wrists. "Tryin' to get a rise outta me, well, you got it," he gritted out.

Bucky leaned into the hand twisted in his hair, alleviating the pain and exposing his throat.

"I wasn't– " he started.

"The hell you weren't!" O'Reilly pushed up against his ass roughly. On instinct, the one free hand Bucky had left shot out to clutch at O’Reilly’s hip. His breath was coming heavy; the same was true for O’Reilly. They stood like that for all of three seconds – the moment O’Reilly let go of his hair, Bucky twisted around and instead of punching the guy’s lights out he yanked him forward by the belt. The radio was humming in the background as he made quick work of unbuckling it. Without looking O’Reilly in the eye, he dropped to his knees. “Aw, shit!” O’Reilly cussed on a groan when he realized what Bucky was about to do. Bucky tugged his pants down along with the underwear. O’Reilly’s cock sprung up in his face, hard and thick. He couldn’t keep the tiny broken sound from escaping him in time.

Before he could think about it, he wrapped his fingers around the base. Through the thickening fog of desire, he heard O’Reilly run his jaw above him. Mouth watering, he licked a long stripe up to the tip. Something clattered to the floor next to him when O’Reilly clutched at the wooden shelves for support. Bucky swallowed him down, moaning helplessly.

A hand twisted in his hair. On instinct, he caught it with his own free palm.

“Yeah, come on,” O’Reilly huffed, squeezing harder at a particular slip of Bucky’s tongue. “Aw, hell.”

Bucky inhaled the strong scent of the tangled nest of dark curls that kept scratching at his nose. His abdomen tightened at the weight gliding along his tongue, tugging at his lips. His eyes watered from shame. His own groin felt too tight, too smothered, so he let go of the strong hand firmly pulling at his head and reached down to palm himself through his pants. Pleasure shot through him like electricity.

O’Reilly was asking something, but Bucky ignored him. So O’Reilly wrenched him back by the hair – wet, spit–slick erection falling from Bucky’s mouth – and held him there. Bucky’s brows drew together in confusion and pain. He looked up through his lashes, panting and not entirely seeing. His lips felt overheated, swollen. The question O’Reilly was repeating trailed off halfway.

“My God,” he croaked, barely audible. Bucky, not able to get at his cock with his mouth, resorted to tugging at it with the hand still around it, spit easing the way. “Stop,” O’Reilly growled and hauled him up. Bucky swayed, blood rushing everywhere at once. “You want more, don’t ya?”

Hands pawed at his ass. He stumbled forward into O’Reilly’s chest. The guy’s eyes were blazing. “You need more,” O’Reilly continued hoarsely, leading them around to the main room. Bucky was feverish, trying to relieve the pressure between his thighs. The flat hardness of the chest before him and the roughness of the chin against his ear were chasing all the sense of propriety out of him. “Say it, say you want me to give it to you.”

Bucky shivered something awful. O’Reilly’s low, resounding voice made the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. He fisted a hand in his shirt. The buttons protested.

“You need it deep,” O’Reilly rasped.

“N– ” Bucky gasped when O’Reilly sneaked a hand from his ass down in between his legs, pressed at his sack. “No,” he denied, working his jaw. The warmed cologne wafting from the crook of O’Reilly’s neck was making him dizzy.

“Admit it,” O’Reilly spat out and circled his waist in a vice–like grip, harshly jerking him against his front, forcing a muffled cry out of him. “Ever since you came into the office.” The guy was nearly growling at this point. “I was _fine_ before you!” He shook him. Bucky’s cock ground against his hip. O’Reilly wasn’t making any sense, snarling hot against his ear. “You cocky little shit. You want it, say it. Long and hard and–”

“Shut up!” Bucky hissed and sent him flying back. O’Reilly landed on the couch, breath punched out of his lungs. This was the moment. If Bucky wanted out, now was the time. He stood there, chest heaving, looking down at O’Reilly glaring back at him. But he’s made a decision long before all this even started, even if he wasn’t aware of it.

He spun around on his heel and retreated into the kitchen hurriedly.

“Hey, what the–!”

“Shut. Up,” Bucky snapped over his shoulder, but didn’t slow down. He got to the abandoned shelf, its doors gaping open. He reached inside and pulled out a small jar. Steve was going to give him grief for using it. Shit, _Steve_ … He squeezed his eyes closed and pulled himself together.

O’Reilly’s dick was just as hard as he left it, jutting out from the folds of his pants. When Bucky threw the container, O’Reilly caught it reflexively against his chest. He looked at it and barked out a laugh.

“Shut up,” Bucky threatened, at the same time removing his pants hastily. His heart was pounding anxiously. “Get it open and just… Shut up.”

O’Reilly didn’t argue, just uncapped the damn thing. Bucky rid himself off everything but the shirt and dipped his fingers in the jelly before O’Reilly had a chance to. He went on his knees up on the couch, propped an elbow on the backrest, and slid a finger right in. The tip of his dick stained the clean hem of his work shirt, the same shirt Steve has spent the whole of last evening carefully ironing. He insisted it was only fair, after Bucky stitched up all the holes he’s managed to acquire in his meager collection of clothes. He burned himself two times, swore up a storm, and vowed to never do it again. It fell to Bucky to tape up his sore fingers after.

Bucky made a noise in the back of his throat, and even to his own ears it sounded deprived.

“Shit, kid,” O’Reilly breathed out, almost impressed. He slipped a hand under Bucky’s loose shirttails, feeling up his back, slick from sweat. “You don’t fuck around, do ya?”

Soon, his mouth joined his hand in the exploration of Bucky’s body. He scraped his teeth over the side of Bucky’s neck just as Bucky added another finger. O’Reilly prodded at where Bucky was working himself. His breathing grew more labored where Bucky could feel it in the crook of his neck.

“I’m going in there,” he promised, biting the lobe of Bucky’s ear.

“Stop talking,” Bucky gasped. His lungs felt too small and the guilt racking his body wasn’t helping. He was burning; his thighs trembled with the effort of holding him up, anticipation alone nearly reducing him to tears. In an attempt to stifle the sounds making their way out of his mouth he clenched his jaw. It made O’Reilly smile.

And then another slicked up finger joined Bucky’s, sliding alongside his own. It was thicker and rougher, and now Bucky could really feel the stretch. The compulsive need to stifle a groan turned it into a cough.

“Yeah,” O’Reilly rasped out and, with shocking viciousness, drove his finger forward at just the right angle. Bucky screamed, hands flying, and tried to scramble away. O’Reilly wouldn’t let him. Before he could do so much as kick out, O’Reilly had him by the waist and already on the way down. He threw him down onto the couch and a wide, strong hand on his breast pinned him down. The other hand went back inside him. O’Reilly loomed, a feral look in his eyes. Bucky’s head was all messed up; tangled thoughts and sensations spinning a web of pleasure and confusion around his body and mind. He was torn between kicking O’Reilly off him and bringing him closer, so his hands ended up just uselessly twisted in O’Reilly’s collar instead. His hips jerked up, searching for friction. When they found none, he bit his lip in frustration – hard – and breathed through the nose. O’Reilly’s hand eased up from his chest. Slithered up to his neck and higher, until his thumb prodded at Bucky’s abused mouth. Unthinking beyond the electricity coursing through his veins, lighting him up, Bucky let it in. O’Reilly skimmed over his slick, red lips and pressed down on his tongue. Heavy–lidded, Bucky watched his face transform into a look of pure agony. “You’re fucking breaking me here,” O’Reilly’s voice was hoarse, quiet, almost reverent. He drove the fingers inside Bucky right into that spot and _held them_ there. Bucky clamped his teeth down, making O’Reilly grunt, and squeezed his eyes shut as the muscles along his spine contracted, arching him off the couch. He hated it.

He loved it.

“Whadya want, kid?” O’Reilly urged him, fingers working fast again, irregular, erratic, driving Bucky insane. He couldn’t, he couldn’t… He ripped his hand from O’Reilly’s shoulder and gripped the guy’s wrist instead, tugging him out of his mouth. With the other, he yanked himself up close to his ear.

“Fuck me,” he panted desperately, his abdomen tight. O’Reilly’s fingers skipped a couple of beats. “Come on, come on.”

He reached down and circled a hand around O’Reilly’s cock. The guy nearly doubled over. Bucky smeared around all the wetness he found there, the taste of it still fresh in his mouth. It grew impossibly harder under his ministrations. He was terrified of how much he wanted this, every part of him vibrating at the mere thought. He felt like throwing up, he felt like flying.

With a growl, O’Reilly reined himself in and big hands closed on Bucky’s hips, slid him down hard. O’Reilly’s cock wedged itself right up against Bucky’s, his zipper a scratching contrast to the slickness. The sensation brought with it a short–lived burst of lucidity. Save from the shirt, and even that was now rolled and crumpled up to hell beneath his armpits, he was completely naked. In turn, O’Reilly didn’t even bother with his tie. It swung loosely, tickling Bucky’s stomach and steadily pushing him toward madness. Sweet Jesus, the guy still had his shoes on.

Bucky choked on a moan. He was a whore. He wanted only the one thing, and O’Reilly was giving it to him. And nothing else mattered. The fact it only seemed to fuel him more spoke of the sheer volume of his depravity.

In a sudden rush of conviction, he shoved O’Reilly back. Breathing heavy, they stared at each other for a long moment, eyes blown and lips parted. And then Bucky snarled at himself and the insistent throbbing of emptiness demanding to be filled that would just – not – let – up, and rolled over, his limbs weak and shaking as he propped himself up.

O’Reilly made a sound as if someone just punched him in the gut. He molded himself to Bucky’s back, huffing into the damp hair at the back of his neck. At the first slide of his dick in between his cheeks, Bucky shuddered. The tip dragged over his aching opening, teasing. It was right there, so close, so close.

“Please, come on,” Bucky pleaded brokenly, loathing what this need had turned him into. “Do it, give it to me, come on.”

O’Reilly bared his teeth where Bucky could feel it at his nape, followed it with a bite. Positioned himself, started to push. A jagged whine escaped Bucky’s throat.

“That’s right, you take it,” O’Reilly gritted out. “Make you think of it all day tomorrow, every time you sit down. Make you think twice before leading a guy like that, you goddamn hustler.”

The words shot right down to his very core, igniting within him in equal measures outrage and excitement. Then, as O’Reilly’s cock finally breached the outer ring of muscle and made one of Bucky’s hands give out, a door slammed shut.

Before they could figure out where the sound came from, footsteps sounded in the cramped corridor. By then it was too late. O’Reilly scrambled off his back just as Steve rounded the corner, took in the situation, and froze.

O’Reilly tugged up his underwear in a flash and fought with the zipper as Steve’s shockingly strong voice sounded.

“Who the hell are you?”

Bucky couldn’t breathe, his entire lungs shrunk to the size of raisins. He struggled off the couch, coming into view from behind the backrest. Steve’s eyes flew wide open, as did his mouth. There was ringing in Bucky’s ears, his entire head was pounding, it felt like the world was closing in around him as he tugged the hem of his shirt as low as it would go, hiding as much of his shame as he could. It wasn’t much. It was glaringly obvious what they were doing just seconds before.

O’Reilly didn’t say a word; he used the moment of Steve’s bewilderment to haul ass out of there. Grabbed his jacket and was gone in seconds, leaving Bucky hunched over and mortified.

Bucky tried to swallow, but his mouth was a desert. Steve turned his face away, stared at a wall where Bucky would insist to pin some of his best sketches. When he looked again, his expression was schooled into indifference. There was something in his eyes, though. There was something and Bucky felt so close to letting tears fall. He had to look pathetic.

Fuck, _Steve_.

What was he doing here? He was supposed to be out!

Now Bucky had to actively try and stop himself from passing out from breathing too much. Steve was still silent, not moving. He was a good man, though. The best. He wouldn’t condemn Bucky for this, would he? He would… He would nod and let the sleeping dogs lie, and then maybe he would slowly, tactfully cut Bucky out of his life. Gradually, until all that was left was a shadow of a memory. Bucky exhaled wetly, not reaching up to rub at his eyes. His fist felt welded to the shirt he was using to shield what was left of his dignity.

Unexpectedly, Steve kicked back into movement. He dropped his suitcase against the wall, like he always did. And then he got to the couch separating them. He leaned forward a little to rest his hands on its back, lowered his head. Blond hair swung forward.

Bucky looked on fitfully, trying to quell the guilt clogging his throat. Where the hell were his clothes? His heart was alternately pounding wildly or skipping beats, blood rushing to his head. His erection waned entirely within moments of getting caught; his stomach hollowed.

Steve straightened up and walked around the couch, gaze stuck on something. Bucky followed it and found the open jar of vaseline. Slim, bruised up fingers retrieved it from the coffee table. The lid they pulled out from between the couch cushions. Thoughtfully, Steve screwed it back on.

Why couldn’t Bucky move? The life as he knew it was slowly disintegrating before him. He felt frozen. There were goosebumps erupting on his skin.

“I didn’t know you were… like that.”

Steve’s voice startled him. The look on his face was unreadable.

“I’m…” _not_ , died on his tongue.

Steve’s gaze dropped to where Bucky’s hands were hopelessly bunched in the hem of his shirt. With wild fascination, Bucky observed a faint flush set over Steve’s features. He didn’t dare think of what it could mean.

Clearing his throat, Steve slowly gathered Bucky’s clothes strewn across the floor. With practiced movements, he shook them out, half–folded them and laid them over the back of a chair. By this point, Bucky felt completely rooted to the ground. The way his mind couldn’t settle on one thing at a time made him woozy.

“So…” Steve started, back turned on Bucky, eyes glued to the brick wall outside, safely shading the window.

Before Bucky had time to stretch his lungs out with air to apologize his _fucking_ ass off, the effort dissolved with the next words out of Steve’s mouth.

“You like ‘em big, huh?”

That was so far from anything Bucky could’ve imagined that it completely blindsided him.

“No,” a strangled syllable squeezed out from his parched throat instinctively. For a while he wasn’t even sure he was talking at all. “It was– He– ”

The minute shift of Steve’s head revealed a shadow of his profile – the long lashes, the prominent nose. He was listening. Blood was pulsing in Bucky’s ears.

“It was convenient,” he admitted quietly, voice cracking. “Steve, I’m sorry. I swear, it just happened, I wasn’t planning this or anything. I don’t know, I just had to– I had to– ” he stuttered desperately now that he found his voice again.

“Convenient,” Steve interrupted. Bucky couldn’t infer anything from his tone, but he could very well guess. “I’m convenient.”

That… Okay, he would never guess that.

“Wh– ”

“If you were going for convenience, it doesn’t get any more convenient than that, does it?” Steve jerked around and scrutinized him. It was surreal how Steve seemed almost… offended. After some excruciatingly uncomfortable seconds of Bucky squirming as he frowned over the words, he figured it had to be derision at his choices. Unless.

“Wait,” Bucky said, confusion marring his forehead. “Did you… want me to come to you?”

It was probably one of the riskiest things he’s ever uttered in his life. Steve never liked accusations, he was probably going to gift Bucky a black eye or two, the thing about that short fuse of his was that you never knew which way it was going to blow, he was so… Was Steve blushing?

“You’re blushing,” Bucky commented vacantly. “Why are you blushing?”

“Come on, Barnes,” Steve scoffed, squaring his shoulders. “I’m offerin’ to do ya here. You keen or what?”

Bucky blanked out for a second.

“I… We…” he croaked and wet his lips. Steve’s eyes flickered across his face darkly.

“I know I’m not…” Steve hesitated. “That guy,” he said with barely contained contempt as he pointed his thumb at the door. “But maybe, you know. I’m safer.”

An unconscious bark of laughter left Bucky, surprising him.

“Trust me, pal. If there’s one thing you ain’t it’s safe.” The words came uninvited, years of ribbing and banter ingrained in his very bones. Steve’s face closed off at that and Bucky swallowed. He couldn’t believe what was happening. Steve was actually offering– _Steve_.

“Does that mean you don’t want to?” So straight–forward, so simple. Bucky’s whole world was tilting off its axis. Steve set his jaw and ambled over to where Bucky was rooted to the ground. It felt dangerous, the way Steve’s eyes bored into his, caging him. “You’re gonna have to speak up, Buck.”

Bucky looked on with wide eyes as Steve came to a halt before him; his knuckles went white from where he was squeezing them in the material of his shirt. And then slowly, carefully, Steve reached out, still focused on Bucky’s face, and put his hand over one of Bucky’s fists. Gently, but insistently, he pried it open. Bucky’s eyes snapped down to watch as if it weren’t his own. Just this proximity, the set determination on Steve’s face, it was enough to make something start coiling in Bucky’s stomach. He tightened his lips; his breaths coming in quicker.

Steve started working on opening his other hand as he let go of the first one and snuck his fingers underneath the shirt to brush them up over Bucky’s hip. A wave of shivers washed over his skin. Reflexively, he caught the sleeve of Steve’s shirt in another tight grip, just to have something to hold on to. A corner of Steve’s lips twitched. Bucky’s cock stirred between his legs and his throat tightened.

This was so much worse, this was… This wasn’t just his own secret need, something he could pretend wasn’t there. This was Steve, for Christ’s sake; Steve, for who, buried deep down inside, so deep, for who he wanted to bend over since he was fifteen years old. Steve, with all his strength and scarred knuckles and the weight of the world on his shoulders. With that grim resolution on his face every time he went out there to fight everyone else’s battles, because if not him, then who would? And now those hands were on him, and he had a tangled mess for a head, and he wanted to push Steve away and protect him from this and he wanted to pull Steve closer and feel him everywhere.

Steve’s hand, dangerously close to his groin, startled him into motion. He yanked himself away and made for the abandoned beer bottle on the side table. He almost choked with how enthusiastically he set to chugging what was left.

“Buck…” Steve’s voice was too small, it shouldn’t sound like that. When Bucky cut his gaze down, there was a noticeable tent between Steve’s legs, loose pants doing nothing to conceal it. His throat constricted and his mouth twisted; he wanted to throw up. He felt an answering tug in his abdomen.

“Why are you doing this?” Bucky croaked, transfixed.

“I’m not doing anything.” Steve put his hands up, palms out. He took a step towards Bucky. Bucky took a step back. “Not unless you want me to.”

This was insanity. That’s what it felt like. Steve took another step his way. Bucky didn’t move. This is what it came down to. Steve made his way to him and then slowly, reached out for the side of his head. His hand was cool where it touched Bucky’s skin, his overheated face. Bucky wasn’t going to suffocate, he wasn’t, except for how he was, because Steve was carefully angling him down and that was Steve’s breath on his lips. The green specks in the blue of Steve’s eyes caught his attention before they disappeared, hidden under a thick fan of eyelashes, and then Steve’s face got too close to see anything at all. The shaky breath he released warmly reflected back at him off Steve’s cheek. And how could he do this? How could he let Steve do this, like this, where there would be no pretending that Bucky was anything else than what he was, a guy? How could he tell Steve that he didn’t have to do this, that it was enough that he was willing to stick it to him, if Bucky could feel every cell of his body hungrily reach out to him?

“Yeah?” Steve muttered, seeking assurance. Right there for the taking. And Bucky snapped, because he wasn’t good enough. The tip of his cock kissed the hem of his shirt again and his stretched out hole kept maddeningly working on empty air and just the thought of Steve’s fingers going up there nearly had him keening. So he took hold of Steve’s forearm in one hand, he put the other on the side of his neck, and went for it. The sound that made it out of Steve’s lungs was half surprise and half satisfaction. Their lips moved, slid together. Bucky gasped when Steve used his hands to pry his jaw open and seek out his tongue. Holy fuck, _Steve_. He tasted like black coffee and sin and the backs of Bucky’s teeth tingled with longing; this wasn’t enough, he wanted Steve to crawl inside of him, to tear him apart from the inside, because nothing should feel like this.

Steve’s mouth was scorching and his teeth sharp when he bit down on Bucky’s lip. The shock of it and the jolt of desire it sent through Bucky paralyzed him until Steve kissed down the side of his face and licked a trail up his throat to distract him from a leg that cut him down and sent him splaying sideways onto the couch. Vertigo, and then a surprisingly strong, unyielding hand pressed down on his shoulder blade, pushing him face down into the cushions. Bucky became petrifyingly aware of what all that did to his shirt, the only thing in way of his modesty. Burning shame rose up in him at how it only made him want to stick his ass up all the more. He fought the urge down with a strangled mess of Steve’s name stuck in his throat. It mortified him.

“Shh.” The couch dipped in between Bucky’s legs as Steve climbed on. “You’re fine.” His voice was thick, reminiscent of when he’d sometimes have his face punched in a couple times. Bucky contorted his neck to take a look over his shoulder just in time to see the fascinating way a dark blush spread over Steve’s face before his hands went up to frame Bucky’s cheeks as he dipped down. Bucky’s eyes went wide.

“No,” he breathed with disbelief and made to crawl away, but Steve held on fast. Heat went up and down his body in a desperate wave. Steve _wouldn’t_. “No, come on, you don’t–” His protest turned into a muffled moan as his arms and knees gave out with a jerk and he went weak everywhere. Steve licked at his entrance again, unhurried and thorough. Bucky panted wetly. This wasn't just a favor. Bucky didn’t live under any illusions, Steve was a dirty fucker, tough as nails, but this… Even for him, this was something else.

Bucky gritted his teeth as he squirmed under Steve’s tongue, choking on whines. Steve’s hands kneaded his ass, fingers creeping closer, driving him insane. The bunched up shirt was sticking to his back with sweat, working him up; a loose couch spring dug into his ribs like it wanted to goad him. The slurping noises Steve was making burned Bucky’s ears. He worked his tongue right into Bucky’s hole, thumbs stretching him. His bangs were tickling the top of Bucky’s ass. It was electricity, he was wired. His skin was too tight. Everything inside him was coiling, blood set to a boil. His dick was straining back up, begging for attention. It was obscene; Bucky loved it.

He didn’t realize when he got a knee under himself, spreading wider and pushing back into Steve’s face, wanting it deeper, not able to stop himself. But it made Steve moan around his tongue and they both froze. Bucky’s breath caught and he stared unseeingly at his hand, clenched on the edge of a cushion. Steve liked it. Steve actually liked it. This was beyond… everything.

“Do you have any idea…” Steve’s voice came quiet, hoarse. It sounded almost as wrecked as Bucky felt. A puff of breath over Bucky’s oversensitive hole made him desperate. It sent a filthy shiver from down the backs of his thighs to the top of his spine. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Steve’s fingers tightened slowly, bruisingly. Bucky braced himself, but then Steve really went to town, kissing, sucking, and licking until Bucky was trying to fuck himself on his tongue, dick bobbing up and down, any sense of decorum forgotten. His head was swaying between his shoulders, dizzy and half mad.

A trickle of saliva ran down towards Bucky’s balls, wrenching a frustrated sob out of him.

“Steve.” It didn’t even sound like his voice.

“That’s me,” Steve said after one last twist of his tongue, immediately replaced with two fingers. Bucky’s nerves went wild; his vision darkened as he lost control of his mouth. Steve braced himself on Bucky’s back with the other hand, his breath coming in heavy, and he prodded inside of him with intent. Bucky’s entire face went slack when he found what he was looking for. “There you go, yeah,” he goaded thickly.

A burst of precome dribbled down the tip of Bucky’s cock and he wanted to bite something. Muffled, embarrassing sounds were squeezing out of his throat. Steve slipped him another finger smoothly. He didn’t need it, he was ready, he was ready. There wasn’t enough air; his head was swimming. He rocked back and forth on Steve’s fingers, clenching for more. Blindly, he flung his arm out until it connected with something. It fell on Steve’s shirt and he twisted his fingers in the front of it, tugging. The need was getting overwhelming, he was so close, his hole a white hot point of pleasure. And then the fingers were gone, and with them all the air in his lungs, and why, _whywhywhy._ He smeared a frustrated cry into his forearm.

Something coarse pressed against his crack at that and rocked, a dirty promise. A weak imitation of what he really needed. Another hard press of Steve’s still clothed hips punched a broken sound out of him. Finally Steve gave into his hold and curved over his back, hands running up his sides under the shirt, catching on his nipples. It made Bucky jerk in surprise, knocking him back, and Steve’s moan right behind his ear sent him trembling.

It was lethal, how much he wanted it. Steve’s hands on him were fire, he could feel his phantom touch inside. Bucky’s neglected cock was pulsing in time with his entrance as the hard length Steve was packing kept rubbing up against him.

Steve was hard. For this. Before Bucky could think if it was a good idea, if he was going to spook Steve, his hand was moving. He let go of the now loose shirt tails of Steve’s and boldly cupped the bulge in his pants, massaged it roughly. Steve made a choking noise and swore violently. A hand shot out and grabbed Bucky by the hair, yanking back, and oh.

“ _Oh_ ,” he gasped. His hand spasmed. Steve grunted.

He kept pulling, until Bucky had no choice but to push himself up onto his knees, back pressed to Steve’s chest, heaving. Without the leverage, his hand fell away from Steve. His mouth watered all over again.

“That how it is?” Steve’s voice was dark and thick like molasses. Bucky swayed with the sudden blood rush; his dick twitched and he reached for it unthinkingly. His fingers barely brushed the head when Steve slapped them away. Bucky wanted to scream. Steve’s fingers tightened in his hair and Bucky hissed up toward the ceiling. His blood felt close to a boil, there was sweat all along his back soaking through his shirt, steadily gnawing at his self control. He leaned back against Steve, seeking contact, but Steve purposely swung away. Bucky gritted his teeth. What was that prick doing? “Yeah, look at you.” There was that smug lilt to Steve’s voice that always served to raise Bucky’s hackles. A rough, slender hand slid over his hip and settled against the dark patch of hair crossing his abdomen. And then scratched.

Bucky jerked violently, close to bursting. He reached behind and palmed the back of Steve’s neck, wanting him closer, needing him closer. Steve was a stubborn shit, but he let himself be pulled. He mouthed at the tender skin behind Bucky’s ear, and between that and his teasing fingers Bucky was starting to see red. The fist in his hair only worked to spurr him on further. His neglected hole quivered, a constant remainder of what was wrong with him.

He tried to guide Steve’s hand closer to his cock; something, anything to ease the nearing painfulness of his need. But Steve wouldn't budge; instead, he pulled Bucky’s head sideways to kiss on his neck. The heat of it spread along Bucky’s bones, tensing up his muscles. He could feel the exact moment when his already precarious composure snapped – it went with a growl the moment Steve bit him and scratched up his chest. Steve was a dirty fighter and could pull more than his weight, but enough was enough, and ultimately, Bucky was bigger, even if he didn’t often pull that card.

The couch rocked under them when Bucky grabbed Steve by the wrist and wrangled his hand out of his hair. He swung halfway around, pivoting on one knee and bracing the other leg on the floor. The sudden movement jostled his cock and he inhaled harshly. Now facing Steve, he pushed into his chest, winding him and forcing him to fall back and sit on the couch, legs swinging onto the ground. In the same motion Bucky straddled him and pressed into his shoulders, keeping him in place. Bucky ground down hard, once, driving a stilted groan out of Steve, and realized that it was too easy. _Steve_ went too easy. Almost as if…

Bucky sat back, breath coming in heavy pants, and let himself look, against his every instinct.

( _He wasn’t supposed to look, that’s not how this worked._ )

Steve’s face was, sweet Jesus, his face. It was dead serious, and as dark as Bucky rarely saw it. But his eyes… His eyes were burning black as he took in the sight of Bucky seated across his lap and Bucky realized. Steve planned this, the crafty fucker. That determination over the subtle tilt of satisfaction to his mouth said it all. He wanted Bucky here, like this, driven to this.

Bucky seethed.

Steve ran so hot, even through his clothes. His hands felt like flames where they landed high on Bucky’s thighs.

“Come on,” Steve urged coarsely. He rolled his hips up, dragging the thick fabric of his pants over Bucky’s sensitive balls. Quickly, he grabbed Bucky by the neck and brought him down to whisper in his ear. “You want it, you take it.” And with a final nip to his earlobe, he let go.

Bucky stayed frozen, gaze blank, a dangerous current crisscrossing right under his skin. Damn Steve, damn him right to hell.

Slowly, he unclenched his hands from Steve’s shoulders; he’d probably left bruises. With effort, through the blur of lust and self–contempt, he made himself stare into Steve’s eyes. And he slid down to his knees on the ground. He spread Steve’s legs. The way Steve’s eyes were immovingly boring into his licked at his insides.

Without breaking the contact, he bent down and went to mouth at Steve’s erection. It strained the front of his slacks obscenely.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed absently, fists balled at his sides. “Yeah, do it, come on.”

The tips of Bucky’s fingers spasmed as he fumbled for the belt buckle. Steve’s cock burst out from the confines of his pants as Bucky yanked them down. He couldn’t help but look, had to swallow down his thickening spit. He wrapped his hand around it, brushing the nest of dark blonde curls at the base. It was perfect, pink and heavy; bigger than he let himself remember. Jesus, he was about to suck his best friend’s cock and it was the most aroused that he’s been in his entire life. Every shred of hope he held that it was only some sick, passing fancy evaporated right along his decency.

Steve’s breath picked up as Bucky drifted closer.

He’s wanted to get at it ever since he saw Steve handle himself in a shower that first time, years ago, his twisted up face. The memory overlaid with the current moment made him look up through his eyelashes, hungry. And he felt Steve twitch in his hand.

“Buck,” Steve sounded warningly, but the thickness in his voice betrayed him. A blush seemed to have taken permanent residence on his face; he looked healthy, strong. Some of his bangs clung to his forehead with perspiration. Bucky had a hard time drawing a breath. “Do it.”

Bucky did. He licked at the head, gathering the wetness that slipped out. The taste went straight down to his own cock and he had to stroke it, chase down the high. He went for more, going down fully, without a warning, savoring every inch.

Steve made a choking noise as he doubled over, curling over Bucky’d head in his lap and grabbing him by the hair.

“Oh God, fuck,” he gasped. Bucky worked his mouth back and forth, twisting and slurping, the heady scent going to his head, dizzying. It was Steve, Steve everywhere, intoxicating. His legs clamped around his rib cage, hard. “Bucky, Jesus.” It was disbelief, it was awe, it was desire. Bucky’s name on his lips like a prayer. “Bucky.”

There was not enough air with Steve wrapped around him like that, everything was Steve, and then there were hands on his ass, spreading, and wet, slippery fingers curling inside, and his jaw went slack, a muffled moan of a desperate plea. Steve got his paws on the vaseline over his back, he didn’t even hear him open it, so doped up on the taste of his dick, it was terrifying.

“How far did he get?” Steve panted over him, fingers working in and out, making Bucky salivate, making him weaker “How deep did he go, huh?” He twisted and forced himself in viciously. Bucky’s cock jumped in his grip, spurting precome. He writhed helplessly, impaled on both sides, barely managing faint little curls of his tongue anymore. There was sweat in his eyes and a whine growing in his throat. He needed Steve inside, right now. With a thick string of saliva mixed with come he eased off Steve’s cock. His lips felt swollen, sore.

Steve stuttered out a groan marked with breathlessness. Shakily, Bucky tried pulling himself up on the couch again, pushing Steve back, hand limp and boneless on his torso. Steve took pity on him and went willingly, fingers slipping out as he went. He still had the jar in the other hand, and he dipped into it as he waited on Bucky to crawl back up. The slick glistened as he circled his own cock, blending with Bucky’s spit. The gesture alone was enough to make Bucky shiver. Steve eyed him greedily as Bucky sat astride him and clawed at the backrest, bracketing his head. He stroked his cock invitingly, corner of his mouth pulling up crookedly.

“You wanna sit on it?”

Steve was the devil.

“I will fucking kill you,” Bucky gritted out into the side of his head, but instead of threateningly, it came out like a plea; too desperate, too wasted. He didn’t recognize himself, this mess he’s become. The back of his head was burning, a faint buzzing sound was building up in his ears. Steve’s taste still lingered on his tongue, he buried his nose in his hair, chasing down his familiar scent, comforting and exciting. Steve swallowed loudly when Bucky’s restless shifting brought their erections close enough to touch. “Steve,” he huffed into his neck. “Steve, come on.”

“What.” He knew damn well what. Growing more frustrated, Bucky maneuvered himself so that the tip of Steve’s cock was nudging behind his balls. He held in an anguished sob. What was Steve waiting for? Why wasn’t he taking over?

“Just…” He circled his hips, giving him the right idea. He didn’t want to say it, not to Steve. Steve was too real, a part of him, inseparable. He couldn’t say it to him, because that would also make _this_ real, the need, the emptiness. It would make it real inside of Bucky, forever not to be ignored like he otherwise could. There wouldn’t be any more denial with Steve.

“You want it, you take it,” Steve repeated, kissed it into his skin, setting his nerves alight, raising goosebumps. His lips were full, bitten red, and what was left of the blue in his eyes around the void of his irises looked incandescently bright.

Bucky took a quivering breath, steadied himself. He reached down between their bodies, smoothed down the front of Steve’s shirt with the backs of his fingers, until he took hold of Steve’s length, silky and rock hard, scorching. Steve hitched beneath him, hands slipping under Bucky’s shirt, settling on his waist. Raising up on his knees, he positioned himself, and slowly, carefully, he sank down. The pure, sweet extasy of relief spread through him like a drug. His thoughts were gone, his vision swam under half lidded eyes, everything a blur of pleasure and electricity. All the air left his lungs in a rush when Steve kept stretching him further, deeper, dragging against that spot inside him and making his head fall back.

“My God, Bucky.” Steve’s voice reached him through a haze of delight, wretched. “So long, I wanted… Oh hell, look at you, look at you.”

Bucky was only half aware of the words falling out of Steve’s mouth, focused on the feeling of being filled so good, so hot. With a mangled curse, he bottomed out, his brain a disaster, his abdomen a tight, flaming knot. Underneath him, Steve moved his hips in minute jerks, fueling Bucky’s desire. He clenched down unthinkingly, stirred another wave of sensations. The liquid fire coursing through his veins set him on edge, and oh, God, Steve, fucking _Steve._

“Yeah, fuck.” Steve leaned forward, mouthed wetly along his jaw, which hung slack and useless. “Come on.”

Panting, blinking sweat out of his eyes, Bucky slid up Steve’s cock and down again, harder, waking a new array of sensations that made him want to crawl out of his own skin. He did it again, sped up, rolled his hips back and forth. Steve was matching him thrust for thrust, sending sparks twining up his spine. The more Steve’s breaths grew labored, the dirtier his words became, muttered coarsely. They really put the old couch springs to trial; the folded newspaper page worked itself loose from under one leg and the couch thumped dully against the carpet with every harder buckle. The motion made Bucky’s hair sway into his eyes, damp and unruly. He licked at his lips, tasting salt, and swept the hair back, tangled his fingers in it and kept his hand fisted there, lost as he chased the bursts of pleasure.

Steve took in the picture that he made, wild, gasping for breath, and bouncing no less enthusiastically than a good time gal; Bucky could only guess. But he couldn’t avert his eyes from Steve’s face, the furrowed arch of his eyebrows, his parted lips, the way beads of sweat gathered on his collarbone. He wanted, suddenly and forcefully, he wanted with a burning desire.

The hands gripping his hips wandered up, unsticking the shirt; they molded to his chest, flicked the nipples, and sent an unexpected jolt through him, wrenching a surprised moan out of him, too loud.

“Shh,” Steve fumbled one hand out and put his fingers over Bucky’s slick mouth. Bucky licked at them, salt and metal, and watched Steve’s face turn pained. That was it.

“Steve,” he mumbled against the fingers, all inhibitions out the window. “Steve, fuck me, I want you to–”

It’s like Steve was only waiting for it, no hesitation; he grabbed Bucky by the collar and yanked him sideways, tipping him onto the couch, hitting his head on the armrest. The sudden loss of that delicious length inside him left him gaping, uncomprehending. But Steve was already moving, getting his knees under himself, so Bucky tried turning over. A hand on his dick stopped him and he cried out half in shock, half in pleasure, back arching.

“We’re doing it like this.” Steve hunched over his prone body, teasing along his shaft. Bucky’s ribs felt bruised with his lungs trying to rip them apart and his heart hammering relentlessly. “I want to see your face.”

It sent a lewd thrill through Bucky, like a caress under his skin. His stomach wanted to rebel at how wrong it felt to be wanted like this. To be enjoying it. He didn’t know what showed on his face, but Steve’s softened, eyes going gentle, and that was even worse. So what he suddenly couldn’t say with words, throat thick, he said with his body.

Steve’s breath left him in a rush with Bucky’s hand at his cock, the other cupping the back of Steve’s neck to drag him closer. He put his lips close to Steve’s good ear to hide his face from him. He felt inebriated with the warm scent wafting off his skin, the way it was Steve, and the way it was sex, and the way it was most certainly not a girl. Without conscious input he’d started to try to grind his ass into the couch, needing friction, pressure, anything, and with Steve’s clever fingers stroking in turns his erection and balls he was too switched on, too jittery.

“Stevie,” he panted, twining his fingers in the soft hairs at the back of Steve’s head. Steve’s fist tightened on him. “Oh God, Steve. Steve, put it back in, fuck,” he gritted out, let go off his cock and sneaked a hand past his groin to prod at his entrence.

Steve laid a kiss at the hinge of his jaw and kicked his legs further apart, hitched them up. He took Bucky by the wrist and kissed the inside of his palm.

“Jesus.” Bucky flustered and pulled it away. He didn’t like the pleased curve of Steve’s mouth, so he kneed him in the side. And then Steve pinned him to the cushions and thrust into him. Bucky’s vision blurred momentarily as he stuttered out a moan in a daze. His back curved up with the next push of Steve’s hips. His muscles seized at the perfect angle Steve kept striking with uncanny precision. The inside of his head started turning to cotton, he felt charged. The pleasure building up, spreading outwards from the white hot point of his connection with Steve, it made him unhinged. Steve sped up, his cock stroking deep inside of him, pushing past the tight ring of his opening with wet, obscene sounds. Bucky tried to swallow the sobs rising up in his throat, choked out words of encouragement spilling out of him uncontrollably.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Steve surged into him. He felt bigger than the world. “That’s right, yeah, Buck,” he grunted, put a hand on the side of Bucky’s neck. Bucky couldn’t stand it, covered his face with his palms, didn’t want to be seen like this. But Steve just slapped them away before snatching Bucky’s chin to guide his head back. A wounded little whimper slipped out of him as Steve nosed under his chin and Bucky felt the first hint of teeth.

Thoughtlessly, he hooked a leg over Steve’s hip, threw an arm over his shoulders, gathering him up closer, urging him along, wanting more of him. Steve huffed against his neck, soothing his bite with a languid, open–mouthed kiss.

“You’re perfect.” His words muffled against Bucky’s skin, absentminded, sounding tight and brittle. “You’re perfect, you son of a bitch, I can’t believe you’re letting me do this.”

Bucky was feverish, he wanted to laugh hysterically. As if, Steve. As if.

The harsh edge of Steve’s belt buckle rubbed at the inside of his leg with every surge of Steve’s hips. He felt close to bursting at the seams, Steve’s hands soothing over him, running up and down his body, pressing and kneading. With a deep, shaky breath in and out he let himself feel all of it, nerves alight and screaming. Steve moved in him evenly, dragging it out deliciously. His jagged breath in the crook of Bucky’s neck, the steel grip he got on Bucky’s hip bones for better leverage, the way his movements were growing faster, more forceful. Bucky twisted and scrabbled, pressure building up, dick straining as a pulse after pulse radiated from his stuffed opening, curling his toes. He squeezed his eyes shut, couldn’t tell if his eyes were welling up or if it was sweat. His head lolled from side to side, his hands spasmed, grasping violently at Steve’s shirt, scratching at his back. All his blood gathered north. Steve growled and drove his cock forward, right into the spot that made Bucky white out, hard, and then stopped.

Bucky whined, arched off the couch, clenching, eyes flying open. It was too much and Steve only made the most minuscule movements rubbing up inside him. He stared at Bucky unflinchingly, red mouth parted. A shadow fell over his face, emphasizing the hardening of his features into a look of utter tenacity, a resolution.

He slammed forward and wedged a hand between them to tug at Bucky’s aching cock at the same time. That was all Bucky needed. He shot off hard enough to splatter against his own chin, his orgasm rolling over him like a wave, spreading through him scorching hot. His face went lax, pleasure taking over; his body seized under Steve, around him, as Steve worked him through it. Steve’s erection pushed through his contracting channel a couple more times until Bucky felt erratic bursts of hot liquid spread inside him. A weak, overwhelmed whimper slithered out his throat. Steve mumbled incoherently above him, swaying weakly before propping himself up at the last moment. Bucky felt him shake. Or maybe that was him. Sharp, sudden zaps of aftershock made him heave. He felt high and half out of his mind. His head was a swirling pool of jumbled satiation and it would still be a while before the crushing wave of terror and nausea set in the pit of his stomach. But for now…

He tucked his chin down to look at the top of Steve’s head through half–lidded eyes, hanging low. At the matted nest of his blond hair. And he reached out, noted how his fingers shook, and carded them through the strands to brush them back from Steve’s face tenderly. His heart was swelling with emotion and he fought down with all his might an attempt at identifying it, lest it completely ruin him.

Steve hauled his head up at the touch, gazing at Bucky from under his brow, a healthy flush of exertion settled over his cheeks. Bucky hissed in when his softening cock brushed up against something inside him, sparks of temptation twitching along his skin, and looked to the side through his lashes. Steve’s eyes darkened. He splayed his hand on the side of Bucky’s face.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” The conviction in that single statement was destructive.

Bucky averted his eyes and sucked on his lip. God.

With an uneven moan, he slid off Steve’s cock. He was too empty without it; his hole worked on air greedily. The feeling of come trickling out of him had him breathing faster. He wanted to feel used, like it was nothing, like it wasn’t really his choice. But it was _Steve._

He could lie to himself. But how could he lie to _Steve_?

Steve, who now looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time. Bucky watched him compose himself shakily and stumble off the couch.

“Wait here,” he instructed. “I’ll get a towel.”

Bucky’s hand shot out before he knew what he was doing, head in shambles and overflowing with unnamed emotions. He grasped at Steve’s wrist and made him waver in surprise. Sharp blue eyes snapped to him and it was too late, he was already rambling.

“Steve,” his own voice sounded foreign to him. “I can’t do this to you. This is…” He tightened his lips for a moment, grappling with the urge to hide, escape. “I wanted this, okay?” He felt mad. “I wanted this, you. Like this. _You_. I’m so sorry, I tried, I did, but it’s not just– It wasn’t just… This. For me. Fuck,” he stuttered on a histerical chuckle, self–deprecating, and tried to curl up on himself, cover himself up. He felt scraped to the bone. Steve’s eyes widened. “This is screwed up, I’m screwed up.”

Steve stared with his face frozen. Bucky’s head spun when he caught a glimpse of it.

“Jesus,” Steve uttered coarsely and encircled Bucky’s wrist in turn. “You son of a bitch.”

Bucky flinched, tried to take his arm away.

“I’ll go.”

“You ain’t going nowhere,” Steve gritted out and grabbed Bucky by the hair. Bucky went slightly cross–eyed at Steve’s sudden proximity to his face. “You’ll wait here until I get a towel. You’ll let me clean you up. And then you’ll listen to how damn stupid what you just said was, because I fucking love you.” He paused, clenched his jaw, took a breath. “Unless you got a problem with that, I think we have some explaining to do.”

He let go just as abrupt as he got there, left Bucky paralized, speechless, and slumped back on the couch. His retreating footsteps creaked on the floor. Bucky looked after him and the crumpled mess of his clothes, the slope of his shoulders. The pit of his stomach felt hollow to match the complete hitch in his brain function. It didn’t stop his vision from getting glassy.

He took a deep breath and released it shakily, gathered himself up. And then he waited.


End file.
